


Heart In A Cage

by burymeinziam



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dubious Consent, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:39:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burymeinziam/pseuds/burymeinziam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well I don't feel better when I'm fucking around / And I don't write better when I'm stuck in the ground / So don't teach me a lesson cause I've already learned / Yeah the sun will be shining and my children will burn"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart In A Cage

**Author's Note:**

> Title and Summary taken from the song "Heart In A Cage" by The Strokes. (you can listen to it [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4G3KBcE9KYY))

It isn’t until he’s lying on top of soiled sheets covered in a sheen of sweat that isn’t all his that Zayn begins to hate himself. The guilt – the disappointment and the embarrassment and the humiliation – doesn’t hit him until he feels the bed sink beside him and he realizes that whoever just had his dick shoved up his ass his rolled off of his tired, rag of a body.

“Good?”

The man’s voice is rough. It makes Zayn wonder if it’s naturally like that or if it’s only been overused due to the constant grunts and groans that were being forced into Zayn’s ears less than five minutes earlier. Zayn also wonders if this guy – whoever he may be – realizes that his breath smells like garlic and fish; he wonders if this guy realizes Zayn wouldn’t give him the time of day if he weren’t so god damned broke and desperate. He wonders if this man – whoever he may be – realizes Zayn would give nearly anything to not be lying next to him on this filthy mattress with it’s cum stained sheets and itchy blankets.

Zayn turns his head too look at this guy with his blotchy skin and his thinning hair and his slightly parted lips puffing out tiny spurts of carbon dioxide and he wonders how it came to this. He wonders when he sank so low and he can’t believe he’d never really noticed how fast he was falling. Zayn wonders when it became so easy to walk up to a guy in a bar and ask if he was looking for a good time. He wonders when it became a regular occurrence for him to trade his body for a couple twenties, a shitty blowjob, and an even lousier fuck.

Zayn doesn’t like to think about it much, but its nights like these when the sweaty guy lying next to him dragging his stubby fingers up and down Zayn’s forearms tracing over his tattoos and licking his lips like Zayn is prime rib at a five star restaurant that causes his mind to wander. He doesn’t like to think about it, but he does.

Zayn does think about it and it makes him hate himself because he knows things could have been different.

“What do you say we go for round two?”

There’s a body leaning over him and Zayn smells garlic and sweat and cum and fish and it’s all he can do to fight the bile rising up in the back of his throat. He’s about to say no and shove this guy off of him before demanding his hundred dollars so he can get out of this cheap motel and piece together what little is left of his broken and shattered sense of pride, but then this guy is leaning over and taking his wallet out of the back pocket of his discarded jeans.

“I’ll throw in an extra hundred.”

Zayn closes his eyes and he hates himself even further as his legs spread open on instinct. There’s a low chuckle and the sound of a condom wrapper being ripped open, the pop of a cap on a bottle of lube and an obscene groan of pleasure as an unwanted sexual partner jacks off over Zayn’s limp, boneless body. And then there’s blunt pressure and an all too familiar flash of pain as stranger’s cock breeches past walls of muscle, filling Zayn up and taking away whatever pride he’d had left in him.

And as his body is being pressed into a filthy mattress at a cheap motel on the wrong side of town, Zayn wonders.

\---

Harry’s fingers are soothing when they’re pressed tight against the dip between Zayn’s shoulder blades. His voice is calming as he tells Zayn about his day, about the guy at the department store who wouldn’t stop staring at his ass as he spoke to a manager about a possible sales position. Zayn smiles when Harry tells him about the nice lady who’d given him a couple of dollars so he could buy himself a cheeseburger for lunch.

Zayn knows it’s only small talk, that this is Harry’s way of trying to help him forget. Zayn knows Harry’s day was nothing special and that he really has to rack his brain in order to find something actually worth sharing. Zayn knows all of this and he almost wants to tell Harry shut up because it doesn’t work. No matter how much he pretends that things are normal, they never will be. No stretch of the imagination can mask the rank smell of the week old garbage sitting in the dumpsters just outside their living room window. Harry can dream and pretend all he wants, but when he opens his eyes the next morning there’s a good chance he’s going to see roaches crawling along the walls and scurrying under the old pizza boxes in the kitchen. 

“They gave me pickles even though I asked them not to,” Harry says with a quiet laugh as he runs his hands down Zayn’s naked back. “But I just took them off.”

Zayn rolls over onto his back and pulls Harry down to lie with him on top of the thin sheet they have covering the hardwood floor of their shoebox apartment. All the money Zayn had made the night before is gone now; they’d used it to cover rent. They were still a hundred short, but Harry had given the landlord a blowjob (“ _your lips would look real pretty around my dick, wouldn’t they gorgeous_ ”) and they were allowed to stay another month.

“You don’t have to do this,” Zayn says, hoping Harry will just stop talking. It may help Harry to talk about his day, but Zayn is starting to find it all a bit too depressing.  

“But I want to,” Harry replies, looking up at Zayn through his lashes. He’s so young. Zayn doesn’t understand what Harry is doing out here at nineteen starving and giving blowjobs to men over twice his age just to keep a roof over his head. Harry deserves better than this; they both do.

“Why? It doesn’t change anything.”

Harry shrugs. “My mum used to tell my dad about her day when he got back from work. He would sit down on the couch in the living room and mum would sit next to him and rest her head on his shoulder while she told him about washing dishes or meeting a friend for lunch. It was never interesting, at least not to me, but… it was normal.”

“Doesn’t it make you miss them?” Zayn asks. He thinks about Harry sitting outside of the hospital in the rain. He remembers how alone he looked and how impossible it was for him not to ask if he was okay. He remembers sitting with him while Harry cried.

“I miss them every day.”

“Then why remind yourself of them even more? You’d think it only make things harder.”

“I’d rather miss them than forget.”

\---

Zayn dreams in red.

He dreams of his father’s hand and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

He dreams of shattered whiskey bottles and angry, slurred words following him up the stairs as he locked himself away in his bedroom.

He dreams of fists pounding against his door and his mother crying in the bathroom, of his little sisters buried underneath princess pink sheets as they try to block out the booming voice of Zayn’s father yelling from the other side of his bedroom door.

Zayn dreams in white.

He dreams of a happy family; of a mother and a father and a curly haired little boy with bright green eyes.

He dreams of a white picket fence and a dog playing in the front yard.

He dreams of a husband and a wife sharing stories on the living room couch, of their son doing homework upstairs in his bedroom. He dreams of a car accident and that very same husband and wife dying on impact.

Zayn dreams of bad things happening to good people and he wonders why that is.

\---

It’s been six months.

Six months since Liam left home and branched out on his own to pursue a singing career. It’s been six months since his parents saw him off at the train station, all smiles and well wishes because their son was going to be a star. Liam remembers his mother’s tears and the way her arms felt around his shoulders and her quiet words of encouragement as she softly told him how proud she was.

It’s been six months since Liam left and nothing has happened. He’s broke and living in a shitty roach motel, sharing a room with a heroin addict who likes to hide out in the bathroom until three in the morning, leave the room for a few hours, and then come back only to do it all over again.

He’s been on auditions, sent out CDs and videos to record labels and agencies and to no avail. He lies to his mother whenever she calls and tells her that things are going great, that he’s making friends and connections and that, while things are slow, he feels as though he’s making progress. He lies to hear the smile in her voice and winces whenever she mentions just how brave he is for having the nerve to follow his dreams; that he’s really going to make something for himself because Liam’s got what it takes.

But there’s nothing; _He’s nothing._

Liam can’t find a job and his dreams aren’t even remotely close to coming true because he’s a failure He’s just like all the other wannabes wandering the streets, handing out homemade CDs and mix tapes in the hopes of some hot shot record executive discovering them and making them into a star. Liam’s no different from the dozens thousands of guys waiting tables at cheap Italian restaurants hoping and praying for that one audition that will change their lives forever.

Liam is no longer that handsome boy with the voice that will make your knees weak and your heart throb. Liam is one of thousands with a smashing set of pipes and dreams the size of Texas.

Liam’s ship is going down and he doesn’t even have a life boat to grab on to.

\---

“I’m hungry,” Harry states, pressing his back further into the cold brick of the building he and Zayn are sitting in front of.

Zayn huffs out a puff of breathless laughter before turning to look at Harry. “Aren’t we all?”

“I haven’t eaten anything other than that cheeseburger in, like, three days.”

“You swallowed our landlord’s cum, that has to count for something right?” Zayn says plainly, running a hand through his hair as he wishes to God he had a cigarette.

Harry frowns. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Zayn replies. “It’s not supposed to mean anything; I’m just talking.”

“Just talking and being an asshole are two different things, Zayn.”

Zayn’s head thumps against the wall. He stares straight ahead at the throngs of people navigating the streets paying no attention to the two dirty kids sitting on the sidewalk in front of them. All of these people have lives, families to go home to and friends to hang out with. These people may not always be happy, but he knows they have something to live for. Zayn can’t even remember what that feels like.

Sometimes, he wonders if he ever did.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters under his breath, toying with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m just – I’m not in a good place right now, okay?”

“And I am?” Harry asks, angrily. “I’m having just as hard of a time as you are, Zayn. You think I like sleeping with random guys? Having our landlord shove his dick down my throat just so we can keep a roof over our heads? Do you think I like going to bed every night wondering if I’m even going to make it through the next day?” He pauses and takes a moment to catch his breath. “I know you were just trying to be funny and I know you’re having a hard time, but… I am too. You get into these moods and it’s like you think you’re the only one suffering. It’s like you give up and you don’t give a shit about anything and I can’t have you doing that, Zayn; I need you.”

Zayn nods, lolling his head to the side so he can see Harry properly. “Okay,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Harry’s arms are still folded over his chest and he’s still scowling at the cars speeding up and down the busy streets of the city, but Zayn can tell that the storm in Harry’s eyes is passing; he only needs to give it time.

“You need to stop acting like you’re alone,” Harry says plainly, glancing quickly toward Zayn. “I’m here too, you know. You can talk to me about things.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “I know.”

Harry runs a hand through his curls and slumps back against the wall. “I don’t know, Zayn,” he says with a heavy sigh not bothering to look at the boy next to him. “Do you?”

\---

Liam’s at an audition when he meets Louis Tomlinson. He doesn’t really like him at first because Louis is loud and a little too talkative and he doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of personal space. Liam doesn’t mind friendly conversation at all, but with Louis everything seems to be a little one sided and self-indulgent in a way Liam isn’t quite able to appreciate. But Louis seems nice enough even though he has a tendency to work Liam’s nerves so Liam sits back and lets Louis talk because it’s the nice thing to do and Liam isn’t sure he needs to be making any enemies.

“I’ve been singing for as long as I can remember,” Louis says, leaning back in one of the cheap plastic chairs a group of interns had lined up along the halls of the hallway they were waiting in. “I mean, I really think it was what I was born to do. I just need to prove that to everyone else though, you know?”

Liam nods, folding his hands into his lap as he nervously takes in the scene around him. Everyone is either making small talk with the people sitting next to them or making a conscious effort to ignore everything that is happening.

“You look nervous,” Louis says leaning over toward Liam. He looks concerned which is a little surprising considering most people would be taking advantage of Liam’s nerves. They’d be talking about how “mean and scary” these big men in suit can be when you step in front of their audition table with nothing but your personality and a carefully chosen audition song.

Liam shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t be nervous,” Louis offers. “I mean, I guess it can be good because it will let them know that you really want this, but… don’t let it get to you. You just gotta go in there and do your best and everything will fall into place.”

Liam sighs. “It’s kind of hard not to let it get to you,” he says looking toward Louis with tired eyes. “This is all I’ve got.”

Louis shifts in his seat to pull a pack of gum out of his pocket. He takes a piece out, unwraps it, and pops it into his mouth before offering the pack to Liam. “Want some?”

“No thanks.”

Louis shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He returns the gum to his pocket and crosses his legs. “This is all I’ve got too though, you know. I work nights at a shitty gay bar just outside the city and I run around all day from audition to audition hoping that someone will like what they see. Like, I said, I’ve been singing my whole life. It’s all I want to do. It’s all I can do, really; I’m no good at anything else.  But I can’t let it get me down every time someone says no. People are going to say no and that’s life. You’ve just gotta take in stride, and make a conscious effort to show them what they’re missing out on.”

Liam almost wants to laugh at Louis’ optimism because if he’s learned anything in the last six months it’s that being an optimist gets you nowhere. He’d been optimistic about leaving home and making it big and look where that got him. He’s living in a roach motel with a heroin addict and going on auditions to be a back-up singer for a barely known recording artist doing a tour around the country playing amusement parks. Granted, an opportunity is an opportunity and Liam wouldn’t hesitate in taking the job if it was offered to him, but this wasn’t exactly the big break he’d had in mind when he’d left home.

But there’s something about Louis that Liam is beginning to like. Sure, he’s kind of loud and naïve and a little too in your face, but Liam can tell that he’s a genuine person with a good heart and the best of intentions. Liam can tell that Louis only wants to be his friend and that’s something he can appreciate even though he doesn’t quite understand it.

“Anyways,” Louis adds, clasping his hands together as he offers Liam a friendly smile. “Enough with the motivational speaking. You look like you could use a good time and I’m a guy likes to show a guy a good time so why don’t you swing by the bar tonight?”

“Louis I—”

“No, no, no,” Louis says with a laugh at Liam’s shocked expression. “Not like that. I’m just saying that I can tell you’ve been having a rough time and could use a good night out to loosen up a bit, you know? And I’m working so I can hook you up with free drinks.”

“You hardly know me,” Liam points out, furrowing his brow.

Louis shrugs, the smile never leaving his face. “You hardly know anybody until you do.”

\---

“The guy in the ugly blue polo has been watching you for the past fifteen minutes,” Harry says with a wry smile, tapping Zayn on the shoulder.

Zayn follows Harry’s gaze until his eyes land on a man who appears to be in his mid-thirties sporting a powder blue polo. His hair is slicked back and he’s sipping at his beer when he catches Zayn staring and waggles his eyebrows.

Zayn scoffs. “Great.”

“I was just letting you know,” Harry points out. “I’m saying you should – or that you have to – do anything with him tonight.”

“I know,” Zayn says, nodding. He sighs, wishing he could at least afford to buy himself a drink before powder blue polo makes his way over. “But that’s why we came out tonight isn’t it? We need the money.”

Harry is just about to reply when the man in question works his way into Zayn’s personal space. Harry raises his eye brows and backs up, moving to sit at a stool a few feet down the bar.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” the man says, his eyes raking over Zayn’s body. Zayn wants to roll his eyes and tell the guy to simply fuck off because he could at least have the decency to check Zayn out when he wasn’t looking.

“Hey yourself,” Zayn responds instead.

“I must say, I saw you standing over here and I couldn’t resist coming over here to see if I could buy you a drink.”

“I’ll take a rum and coke,” Zayn says with a coy smile.

Powder Blue Polo offers a lascivious grin in return as he leans over the bar and orders Zayn’s drink. A few seats down, Zayn sees Harry chatting with one of the other bartenders who looks like he couldn’t be a day over twenty-three. He’s laughing and making wild hand gestures as he pours Harry another drink. Zayn knows the sheepish grin that appears on Harry’s face as he ducks his head to hide the blush settling on his cheeks. He hasn’t seen it since that night he and Harry decided to spend the night in smoking weed they’d gotten off of a guy who slept near the dumpsters at the back of a 7-11 and ended up fucking on their living room floor. Zayn doesn’t feel jealous so much as he does protective because he knows how fragile Harry is and how easily he falls and this guy could be anybody.

“Your friend will be fine,” Powder Blue Polo says as he hands Zayn his drink. “Louis is a good guy.”

Zayn’s lips are tight when he smiles and nods in response. “Yeah? What’s your name anyways?”

“Mike.”

“Zayn.”

“Exotic,” Mike says, placing a hand on the small of Zayn’s back. “What do you say you and I hit the dance floor? Maybe your dance moves are as exotic as your name.”

Zayn grimaces at the line but schools his face into something calm and flirty because as sleazy as Mike seemed Zayn could see the twenties stuffed in his wallet and he knew that if he played his cards right he could be shoving a few into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Sure.”

\---

Zayn is wiping at the corners of his mouth and pocketing the sixty bucks Mike had given him when he spots Harry at the bar talking to the cute boy with the crinkly eyed smile. He feels a slight pang of jealousy when he hears Harry’s laughter, loud and genuine, over the pounding base of the music but then he remembers that he has no real right to be angry. Harry was never his in the first place and Zayn isn’t sure he would know what he would do if he were.

It isn’t even that he likes Harry or wants him in that way. Zayn just has this internal instinct to keep Harry safe. As much as he may try to make it seem as if he doesn’t care, he does. When Zayn looks at Harry he still sees that scared boy sitting in the rain outside of a hospital and he wants to protect him; to keep him close and make sure nothing bad ever happens to him again. 

Harry is leaning forward on his elbows, smiling and ducking his head as a blush settles over his cheeks and Zayn knows right away that Harry is smitten. This boy, whoever he is, could tell Harry to walk into moving traffic and Harry would only ask when or where.

\---

Liam isn’t sure why he can’t take his eyes off of the boy in the thin grey sweater and worn out leather jacket. He’s sitting on a bench near a bus stop picking at a sandwich he’d probably gotten at the deli around the corner, eyeing each and every person that passes him by. Liam knows he doesn’t have the time to stop and stare – to watch from afar as he attempts to dissect every move this boy makes – because he has an audition to get to in less than twenty minutes and Liam really cannot afford to be late.

But there’s something about him. There’s something about the way his eyes scan the crowd appearing scared yet determined. Liam has a sudden urge to know him, to talk to him and learn where he came from.

Liam thinks it might be in the way that this boy seems just as lost and out of place as Liam feels. It’s in the way Liam scans the crowd and his eyes immediately hone in on this boy sitting near a bus stop looking so different from everyone else around him. And it’s not just because he looks a little rough around the edges; like he’s seen a few things that he would rather have not experienced. It’s actually not that at all. It’s the look in the boy’s eyes as he watches everybody pass him by without so much as a second glance. Liam knows that look and the feeling that comes along with it.

Liam figures that’s what makes him decide to cross the street and take a seat next to the boy on the bench. He turns to face him and after a deep breath says “Hi.” And silently curses himself when his voice comes out sounding higher pitched than usual.

“Hi.” Liam watches as the boy breaks off another piece of his sandwich and places it into his mouth before chewing slowly.

“Do you – uh… do you know when the next bus should be getting here?”

It’s a stupid question and Liam mentally kicks himself because judging by the way this kid is looking at him, he knows Liam is full of shit.

“No.”

Liam presses his lips together and nods his head, training his eyes on the scene in front of him. He feels as though he’s trying too hard to garner the attention of a boy he doesn’t even know. Liam doesn’t even know why he’s bothering with trying at all. It’s not as if a relationship is even an option for him; he simply has too much on his plate. There’s the question of where he’s going to live once he runs out of money, finding a job, and somehow making a name for himself in the industry. Liam doesn’t have time to worry about mysterious boys lounging around at local bus stops.

But, regardless of all of that, Liam still finds himself opening his mouth and telling the boy his name.

“I’m Liam.”

Liam watches as the boy next to him sighs and places the sandwich he’s been picking at into his lap. He drags a hand over his face before looking at Liam with eyes that tell him that this kid has probably done this a million times before.

“Zayn,” he replies in a bored tone. “I know you’re not looking to catch a bus, mate, so what is that you want?”

Liam furrows his brow. “W-what?”

“If you want something you don’t need to bother with the small talk,” Zayn says plainly, sitting up slightly so he can pull a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. Liam watches as he pulls one out and lights it up. “So what do you want?” He finishes around a ring of smoke.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you mean,” Liam answers. “I only wanted to talk to you. I saw you sitting here and I wanted to talk to you.”

Liam feels stupid for even bothering with talking to Zayn at all now. Zayn’s looking at him like he’s some stupid, naïve little boy who doesn’t know left from right. It puzzles Liam in the same way everything else seems to puzzle him because ever since he left home nothing has been going according to plan. Liam is used to people instantly liking him. He’s used to praise and pats on the back. Liam knows that if he were at home Zayn would be smiling and laughing with him as if they’d known each other for years.

But Zayn isn’t singing praises and patting Liam on the back. There are no smiles and there’s no laughter and Zayn’s eyes only feel cold, distant, and a little bit wary as they rake over the younger boy’s body while Zayn simultaneously takes another drag on his cigarette.

“You just wanted to talk to me,” Zayn repeats in an even, measured tone with his eyes still trained on Liam’s face. He’s feeling apprehensive because nobody ever just wants to talk to him. They always want something, be it a dollar or a quick blowjob in the backseat of their car. It doesn’t matter what it is; it’s always _something._

Liam nods, swallowing the lump that has formed in his throat. He doesn’t like the way Zayn is looking at him like he’s dangerous and has some sort of dangerous ulterior motive to talking to him. “Y-yeah.”

“Alright,” Zayn says incredulously. “Sure. What exactly did you want to talk about then? The weather? Sports? How long it’s going to take you to get me to suck your dick?”

He knows he’s being an asshole and the hurt look on Liam’s face makes him feel a short lived pang of remorse, but Zayn also knows that nobody, no matter how cute, nice, or innocent they may seem, ever wants to simply talk to him and learn his name; it’s never that easy. And even if it were Zayn doesn’t have the time, or the energy, to waste on cute young boys with doe brown eyes and a shy smile that Zayn can’t help but to find a little more than endearing.

Liam has a hard time getting over how effortlessly the words slip from Zayn’s tongue and the easy expression that washes over his face as he crosses his arms over his chest. Liam doesn’t believe people just talk this way to complete strangers; that someone could have such a bleak and blatantly negative outlook on life. Liam may not be the most optimistic person in the world, but he’s never been so distrustful when it came to other people and he couldn’t help but to wonder what happened to Zayn to cause him to become so guarded and scared. If he were to be honest it made Liam feel sorry for him.

“Why is it so hard to believe I only wanted to talk to you?” Liam asks and tone isn’t harsh or offended; it’s mostly hurt, dumbfounded, and a little bit sad.

Zayn picks up his sandwich and stands up from where he’d been sitting on the bench. He doesn’t like the way Liam is looking at him like he’s someone to be pitied and coddled. When he turns back to look at Liam, ignoring the puzzled expression on his face, Zayn’s face is schooled into something cool, distant, and entirely unreadable.

“For the same reason it was hard for me to believe you only wanted the bus schedule.”

\---

When Zayn gets back to the apartment he finds Harry sitting in the living room fixing his hair in front of a hand-held mirror he has strategically placed in front of him on the floor.

“What are you doing?” He asks, closing the door and removing his jacket. He tosses it into the pile of clothes that have accumulated in the corner of the living room that have yet to be washed and probably won’t be until they make the time to find quarters they can use at the Laundromat down the street.

“Oh,” Harry says, looking up from the mirror with a smile that never fails to warm Zayn’s heart. “I wasn’t expecting you to be home for another few hours. I thought you had work to do.”

Zayn inwardly cringes at the euphemism and shakes his head. “No, but I might later if that lawyer who lives in that new development decides to drop by.” He crosses the living room and settles down on the floor against the wall behind Harry. “Where are you going though? Did someone stop by for you?”

Harry shakes his head as a blush settles over his cheeks. He turns around to face Zayn, pulling his legs into his chest and settling his chin on his knees. Zayn knows that look on his face. It’s one that speaks of excitement and the promising idea of something new. It’s a look Zayn is all too familiar with and has worn himself before. _

“Remember that guy from the bar the other night?”

Zayn nods. “The bartender?”

Harry runs a hand through his curls, the smile never fading from his face. “Yeah; His name is Louis. I ran into him earlier today while I was out job hunting and he asked if I wanted to get dinner with him.”

“Dinner…”

Harry’s face falls slightly at the sound of Zayn’s tone of voice. He cocks his head to the side. “Yeah, dinner. He said that he knows this little Italian place that just opened a few months ago.”

“That’s it?” Zayn asks, curiously. He doesn’t let on to the fact that he’s sure tonight is about more than just spaghetti and meatballs, but Harry catches on to Zayn’s concern and a deep frown settles over his face.

“This isn’t about sex, Zayn,” he says.

“Did he say that?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then how do you know, Harry?” Zayn asks. “I saw the way he was looking at you in the bar. He was practically undressing you with his eyes and you were looking at him like some lovesick puppy. And then he sees you on the street and asks you out to some new Italian restaurant and you’re in here fixing your hair and smiling like a teenaged girl who just got asked out to prom.”

Zayn doesn’t like to see the tears welling up in Harry’s eyes but he also doesn’t want to see Harry getting hurt. Harry has a tendency to trust people too easily, deciding that everyone must always have the best intentions at heart when that is hardly ever the case. Zayn knows what it’s like to meet a nice guy who smiles at you and tells you that you’re pretty; the guys who take you out for dinner and for long walks in the park. Zayn knows what it’s like to fall fast only to learn that all they saw in you was a nice face and an easy lay.

“Harry—”

“Is it so hard for you to believe that this guy could actually like me?” Harry’s voice is thick like he’s willing himself not to cry. “I know you’re only looking out for me but it’s like you don’t even want me to be happy.  It’s like you think it’s impossible for anyone to be happy.”

“I’m just telling you to watch out,” Zayn says evenly. “This isn’t _Pretty Woman._ Life doesn’t work out like that for people like us. Chances are this Louis guy isn’t going to sweep you off your feet and change your life forever.”

Harry sighs, regarding Louis with a look that strangely resembled that of the expression Liam had worn at the bus stop only Harry’s was all knowing and Zayn didn’t have to wonder whether or not Harry felt sorry for him; he just knew.

“Maybe not,” Harry spoke quietly as he stood up, grabbing his coat from the floor and slipping his shoes. He crossed the living room pausing at the front door so he could look back at Zayn. “Things don’t always have to be so black and white, Zayn,” he says. “Maybe Louis isn’t some knight in shining armor, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t give him a chance; that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

\---

Louis had written the address for the small Italian restaurant on a torn piece of paper and offered it to Harry with a sheepish smile and an “I hope to see you there” before saying something about an audition and needing to run. At the time, Harry had been surprised by Louis’ nerves and the way his hands had been shaking when he’d handed the paper because guys never got nervous around Harry; it was virtually unheard of.

Now, Harry can see Louis standing outside with his hood pulled over his head to shield him from the cold as his eyes continually scan the area for any sign of a boy with wild curls and a youthful smile. When he spots him, Louis smiles and waves before closing the distance between himself and Harry, wrapping his arms around the younger boy’s shoulders in a friendly hug.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were going to stand me up,” Louis said, grinning.

Harry shook his head, feeling an all too familiar blush color his cheeks. “No. I just got held up at my apartment before coming here. Sorry.”

“No worries,” Louis replied, taking Harry’s hand in his own and leading him towards the entrance. A shock ran up Harry’s arm at the sudden contact causing him to feel warm despite the obvious chill in the air. Louis turned back to Harry as he opened the door to the restaurant, his smile still present on his face. “You’re here now.”

Harry smiles as he and Louis walk into the restaurant where a waitress leads them to a small table for two in secluded corner in the back. Harry can’t help but to think about how romantic everything feels. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced with another guy. Even before he met Louis boys never took him out for fancy dinners. He usually settled for late dinners at cheap diners after a long night of partying.

But Louis was sweet and told Harry to order whatever he wanted. He asked Harry questions about his life; things like where he came from and what he dreamed of doing in five or ten years. And, even though Harry didn’t quite know how to answer those questions because he never really thought about his life outside of what he planned on doing the next day, he still thought it was nice that Louis cared enough to bother with asking.

“This is nice,” Harry says around a bite of pasta during one of the rare quiet moments during dinner. Louis had a habit of knowing how to carry a conversation. Where Harry was shy and a little reserved Louis was lively and energetic. He talked with his hands and shared stories like he was born to put on a performance. Harry could see why Louis had dreams of being on stage.

“It is,” Louis says, looking back to Harry, his lips curving up into the thousandth smile he’s given that night. “I know I keep saying this, but I’m really glad you came. I was kind of bummed when you left the bar that night because I thought I’d never see you again.”

“But you hardly know me,” Harry says and kicks himself because he sounds like Zayn. Zayn who can only ever see the worst in people and, as much as Harry loves him, he doesn’t want to be like that.

“So?” Louis answers, unfazed by Harry’s response. “I knew enough to know that I liked making you smile and that talking to you for thirty minutes simply wasn’t enough.”

\---

“Hands and knees.”

Zayn runs a shaky hand through his hair as he sighs and gets into position on the bed. He feels vulnerable and even more naked than he’s used to in a situation like this. The way the man behind him is speaking is demeaning and humiliating and Zayn only wants to pick up his clothes and run out the door to the motel room.

But this guy is willing to give him close to a thousand dollars if Zayn shuts up and “takes it like the bitch he is.” And that’s an offer Zayn really can’t afford to refuse.

“Yeah…” The man’s voice is low and gravely in a way that makes Zayn’s skin crawl and his throat grow tight. “That’s it… spread your legs a little more.”

Zayn does as he’s told adjusting himself on the bed to meet the man’s needs. Zayn can hear him moving closer; feel the bed dip under the added weight of the man as he presses a knee into the mattress before running a sweaty palm over the smooth line of Zayn’s back.

“Look at you,” he whispers, pressing a wet kiss to Zayn’s shoulder blade. “So pretty…”

If he hadn’t been violently tugging on Zayn’s hair and calling him names he would rather not remember as he nearly choked Zayn with his dick, Zayn might have thought this man was sweet despite his rough exterior. Zayn might have thought the man had fallen victim to a case of being mislabeled and judged based on his appearance. When he first saw him, Zayn was reluctant to even set up a date with the guy because he looked rough; there was something in his eyes that screamed “danger: stay away” but then he said a thousand dollars and Zayn threw all of that out the window. He and Harry could live comfortably off of five hundred dollars for a few months and Zayn wasn’t about to toss an opportunity like that into the trash over a few small reservations.

Zayn gasps as he feels a thick, wet finger slip between his cheeks before circling around his entrance. His heart speeds up at the prospect of this guy forcing his way inside, harsh and violent. Zayn squeezes his eyes shut, but all he can see is a violently stretched hole, swollen, red, and throbbing.

“It’s a shame,” the man says evenly backing away from Zayn slightly, but Zayn can feel him repositioning himself directly in front of his ass and his heart nearly stops beating. “A pretty boy like you whoring yourself out like this…”

Zayn can hear the familiar sound of a condom wrapper being torn open and the soft, ugly groan of the man behind him rolling it on and probably jerking off as he stares at the harsh red patches that are no doubt covering Zayn’s ass since he’d been spanking him earlier.

“You’d think a pretty boy like you would have a boyfriend to spread you open and fuck that pretty little asshole of yours, huh?” He says as he roughly kneads at the flesh of Zayn’s cheeks. “Wouldn’t expect to find you whoring yourself outside of gay bars and strip joints – not that I’m complaining…”

Zayn swallows the lump forming in his throat and wills himself not to cry. He wants to go home; a thousand dollars or not, he doesn’t think he can do this. It’s never easy laying himself out like this and allowing people to use and manipulate his body however they please, but it’s never this hard either. All Zayn can think about is Harry and his date with Louis. He imagines Louis did take Harry to a cute little Italian restaurant where he bought Harry a plate of spaghetti and told him funny jokes to make him laugh and told Harry he was beautiful just to see cheeks flush that pretty shade of pink that contrasts against his skin just right. Zayn remembers the way Louis had looked at Harry when they’d met at the bar and he knows Louis had been just as smitten as Harry was. He remembers feeling jealous because, even though they had just met, nobody had ever looked at Zayn the way Louis looked at Harry.

Zayn wanted Harry to be happy, but he also didn’t want to be alone. They hadn’t been together long, but Zayn liked living with Harry and having someone to come home to; someone who understood his problems and was able to provide a sympathetic ear. He liked holding Harry close (and vice versa) and knowing there were no ulterior motives behind the gesture.

“ _Mmm_ …” Zayn can hear the man behind him groaning as he spreads Zayn’s cheeks apart and licks a broad stripe from Zayn’s balls to the base of his spine. “You look so tight,” he says gruffly. “Kinda surprising considering how many cocks have been shoved deep inside of that ass of yours.” The man chuckles darkly to himself and Zayn can feel him lining himself up as he rubs the head of his cock against his hole. “Gonna change that tonight though; ain’t nothin’ gonna fill you up the same after me.”

Zayn drops his head into the mattress, his ass rising further into the air like an offering and Zayn can’t help but to think it’s only fitting because this is all he’ll ever be good for. He feels the blunt pressure of a heavy cock and then the searing pain of forced entry tearing him open and he lets out a choked off sob, but Zayn can’t tell if it escapes him due to the physical pain of being ripped open or if it’s because he’s only just realized that he’s only good for being used and tossed to the side like yesterday’s garbage.

Zayn figures it could be a little bit of both.

“Yeah, that’s it,” The man says, tossing his head back and relishing in the harsh, wet slap of his balls against the backs of Zayn’s thighs. “Take that cock, baby. Take it like the little bitch that you are.”

Zayn shudders as pain shoots up his spine at the feel of an unforgiving slap to his right cheek. The tears are hot and fresh against his skin as Zayn presses his face into the mattress to suppress the sob that nearly rips from his lungs.

In that moment Zayn hates Harry and, even though he knows little more than his first name, he hates Louis too. He hates them for finding happiness and the promise of new love. He hates Harry for moving on and the inevitable moment when he’ll eventually leave Zayn behind.

But mostly, Zayn just hates himself.

\---

Liam’s sitting on the steps outside of his motel room when he hears a door slam shut and footsteps approach him from behind. For a moment, Liam thinks it could be his roommate coming outside to ask if he can borrow a few dollars but, when he turns around, Liam is surprised to see a vaguely familiar face heading his way.

“Hey…” He says slowly, causing the boy in front of him to stop in his tracks. “I met you at the bus stop earlier didn’t I?”

The boy stops and Liam can hear him draw in a shaky breath as he wipes at his eyes. “Uh… I don’t… I don’t know; Maybe.”

“Your name is Zayn, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” the boy replies, rubbing at the back of his neck before glancing back over his shoulder. He jumps a little when he sees the door to one of the rooms down the hall open but relaxes when he sees it’s only a woman taking her son down to use one of the vending machines. “Listen, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to get going.”

Liam wants to ask him to stay, but he isn’t sure how to do it so he only nods his head and mumbles an “alright” before telling Zayn to enjoy the rest of his night. Even with his face obscured by the shitty lighting of the motel Liam can see that Zayn’s smile is forced as he returns the comment and Liam watches Zayn continue his path down the hall. There’s a slight limp to his step that Liam knows Zayn is trying to hide and when he’s a few feet further down the hallway, Zayn stops and leans against the railing, hanging his head low and running his fingers through his hair.

Without thinking, Liam stands to his feet and tentatively closes the distance between himself and Zayn. “Hey… are you alright?” He asks. Liam already knows the answer and almost feels stupid for asking, but he isn’t sure of what else there is to say.

Zayn reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a pack of cigarettes as a harsh chuckle escapes his lips. “Ha,” he says, sticking a cigarette between his lips. “That’s a loaded question there, mate.”

Liam ducks his head to get a better look at Zayn’s face. His eyes are swollen and red and Liam can’t help but to notice something that looks eerily like dried cum near the corner of Zayn’s right eyebrow. What shocks him even further than Zayn’s disheveled appearance, though, is the sadness and disappointment in his eyes as he stares down into the motel parking lot.

“What happened?” Liam asks.

Zayn shakes his head as he lights his cigarette. “Doesn’t matter,” he says around a puff of smoke. “’s over now, so there’s no use in talking about it. I just had a rough night, is all.”

“Girlfriend?” Liam asks.

Zayn laughs and looks toward Liam with disbelieving eyes. “You hit on me at a bus stop and then ask if I have a girlfriend?” He asks, laughing as he taps some ash off the end of his cigarette.

“I wasn’t hitting on you,” Liam says quietly. “Not really. I just… I wanted to talk to you. I wasn’t lying when I told you that.”

Zayn scoffs. “Nobody ever wants to talk to me.”

He knows he sounds self-deprecating and sad, but Zayn can’t help but to believe it’s true. People may want to do nothing more than get to know people like Harry and Louis or even people like Liam who appear to be sweet and endearingly naïve, but never Zayn. Nobody has ever really wanted to know him. Not his parents or the rest of his family and certainly not random guys who meet him on the street. Even the people who pretended to care never actually tried to get to know him, so Zayn had a hard time determining what could possibly make Liam be so different.

“What makes that so hard to believe?” Liam asks.

Zayn tosses his cigarette over the rail and turns to face Liam. “I just spent the night getting fucked and humiliated by a guy I’ve probably known a little over six hours,” he says. “When guys come up to me on the street or in the bar or even in a grocery store it’s not because they want to talk to me. They don’t want to take me out to dinner and they certainly don’t care to know my name. They approach me because they think I’m pretty and they probably heard that I was a cheap, decent fuck.”

“So you…” Liam can’t bring himself to say the word because the idea of it makes him sad. He can’t picture Zayn, this beautiful and mysterious boy subjecting himself to such a lousy profession. He can’t imagine Zayn being tossed around from one guy to another only receiving a few dollars in return. Liam can’t picture it because even though he hardly knows Zayn at all, he knows that he is so much better than that.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, finishing Liam’s sentence for him. “I’m a prostitute. You can say it. I don’t mind.”

“But why?”

Zayn shrugs, a deep frown settling over his face. “I don’t know,” he says. “It’s what I’m good at, I guess. It’s all I’m good at.”

Liam isn’t sure of what to say because he knows the feeling well. Ever since he’d left home he’d done nothing but feel as though he wasn’t good enough; like he’d never amount to anything more than a mildly talented boy with dreams too large to actually accomplish. Liam has had doors slammed in his face and people laugh when he told them he wanted to be famous. Liam knows what it’s like to be broke and desperate for anything more than what he already has.

He’s sure it’s nowhere near exactly what Zayn must be feeling, but Liam has an idea and he only wants to show Zayn that there can be more even if Liam isn’t exactly positive that it’s true. Even if he can’t prove to Zayn that there is something greater in life, that things can look up and get better, he wants to show him that people can still be good. Liam wants to know Zayn that it’s possible for people to care.

“Are you hungry?” Liam finds himself asking.

Zayn shoots a glance in Liam’s direction. “What?”

Liam points toward the room he’s been staying in. “My roommate is in there getting high with a few of his friends, so I’m stuck out here until he’s finished. I’m kind of hungry and I don’t have anything to do and you’ve had a rough night and… there’s this diner not too far down the road so I was wondering if you wanted to get some breakfast.”

“And do what?” Zayn asks incredulously.

Liam doesn’t even bother with hiding the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Talk.”

Zayn’s expression is still wary, but Liam can see the way his features soften as he pushes himself away from the railing. “You hardly know me…”

Liam shrugs his shoulders, remembering what Louis had said to him the day they’d met at that audition and he’d invited Liam out to the bar. ( _“You hardly know anybody until you do.”_ )

“No,” Liam says. He’s wearing an easy smile that Zayn somehow knows is completely genuine makes him feel a warmth inside that he’s never quite felt before. “But I’d like to.”

Zayn is about to say no, but then he remembers Harry’s face just before he’d said about trying and giving people a chance. When he flicks his eyes up to meet Liam’s, Zayn can see the other boy is nervous and a looking a little more hopeful and flustered than Zayn had expected which inadvertently causes Zayn to laugh softly to himself because people like Liam just don’t happen to him.

“Well?” Liam asks, nodding his head in what Zayn assumes is the direction of the diner. He’s still smiling and Zayn is still feeling warm. “What do you say?”

Zayn nervously rakes his fingers through his hair and lets out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in before nodding his head in response. “Yeah,” he says quietly, ducking his head to hide the blush that is no doubt staining his cheeks. “Okay.”

“Great,” Liam says offering his hand out to Zayn. “Let’s go, then.”

Zayn eyes Liam’s hand, his heart racing in his chest. He swallows the lump in his throat before raising his eyes to meet Liam’s gaze. Zayn doesn’t know what it is, but there is something about Liam that feels safe; something that makes Zayn want to trust him.

So, even though he’s nervous and even though everything he’s ever learned is telling him not to, Zayn lifts his hands and laces his fingers together with Liam’s.

He doesn’t let go.


End file.
